The Memory Chronicles I FIRST MEETINGS
by Ceberlandon
Summary: The beginning of a hopefully long series. AU, set in modern times. A certain elven prince has come to realize that the only solace he will have is in death. But he cannot leave before leaving an imprint of his memories. First encounters all around.
1. Ch1 My Name is Legolas

**For all those curious, this is a single story within an entire group of stories, dedicated to the series Lord of the Rings and the friendship of Legolas and Aragorn, more specifically. Chances are good that something I point out within these stories never at all happened in the written books, cartoons or movies. It is intentional. And that is what fanfiction is for anyway, correct? To bring to life your own visions by adding and changing things around. Call this AU (alternate universe) if it will make you feel better. I just felt the need to add this little statement because I know how particular some of you can be. Also, I apologize in advance for any and all elf angst. I have a problem.**

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THE MEMORY CHRONICLES: I

FIRST MEETINGS

BY: CEBERLANDON

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It was one of those days where you wanted to trade minds with one of your own clinically insane patients, just to enjoy a day free from responsibilities, duties and mundane necessities of life. Or so, those were the thoughts of Dr. Albert Klein as he settled back into his chair and removed his coat, gloves and other necessities used to combat the chilly and rainy weather outside, only to toss them aside for his next attempt to escape back home. Dr. Klein was, as his walls nearly screamed from the amount of plaques and awards that took residence there, a very skilled and dedicated psychologist, despite the looks of him. The man was young, but not so young that the faded mark on his ring finger sprouted too many questions. A grunt was heard as the doctor settled into his seat and ran an annoyed, rough hand through his curly, unruly hair. Bright blue eyes gazed outward past the glasses that sat, a bit lopsided, against his nose, at the file sitting on his desk, and the reason for his distraught mood.

"What do we have here…" In a voice that did not match his appearance but well the skill of his achievements, Dr. Klein picked up and began to scan through his next assignment, all the while wondering if they had any room for this nut in here.

As it was, the community was not as grateful to have an insane asylum nearby as they were to have doctors to look after the sick. Though attempts to shut down the private-run hospital had failed in the past, it had been obvious for quite a while that this building would not last long. People with power were beginning to heed the worries of the community, which was beginning to show signs of prosperity, now that new shops and entertainment complexes were being built. It wouldn't be long before the patients were sent off to other hospitals – in fact, a few had already said their farewells. It made the doctors hesitant to bring in anyone knew, for fear that they would finally begin to open up, only to be shoved into a new environment with a new doctor who had his own "genius" ideas, and force the patients to build up all the walls their institution had worked so hard to break down. Still, what choice did they have? Their little town, and surrounding areas, had quite the problem with "nut cases," and if they were not in a mental institution, they were paying money to negotiate and ship them off elsewhere, or they remained on the streets and in the middle of the public.

The very thought made the aging doctor cringe, and a hand rose to his brow to stroke away the extra stress that he did not need – especially when he was about to visit with a new patient.

At the very least, this one would probably not be a danger to society, he considered thoughtfully. He was not hearing voices, and he was not brought in under violent circumstances. He was a police officer, the report read, who had attempted to kill himself. Due to the very real attempt on his life, he was merely a danger to himself, thus why he was transferred in the middle of the night into his care. It was also the reason Dr. Klein hesitated to give him a room and a complimentary strait jacket, for though he was in need of help, he was unsure if all efforts to heal him would be killed if and when he got transferred to another hospital – or in the care of another doctor. As an officer, he could only imagine that what had happened was traumatic – apparently, the report stated, his partner had recently died. Trauma could be tricky, or it could be easy, depending on the person. Dr. Klein clicked his tongue, mentally wrestling over his options, until his mind came to a half-decision. There was no harm in checking him out, was there? Finally having decided, the young doctor pressed the small white button atop his desk and spoke his simple command. "Bring him in."

Moments later the door opened and two men stepped inside. One wore a badge, but with the security clearance tag below, it was obvious that he was not the one being checked out. The gruff man, heavy and well-built for his position as a security guard, gave a nod to the doctor he knew on a general basis. "This one is gentle as a lamb."

And, as Dr. Klein noted, he looked like one, too. Despite the fact that his records made him out to be 38 years old, the doctor would have guessed that he was not even in this thirties yet. His face was fair, blemish and scar-free, but drawn tight. It was difficult to tell through the simple white garb he and all the other patients were forced to wear, but he seemed a bit on the thin side, a sign that made the doctor mentally pat himself on the back by guessing trauma. His hair was a dark blonde, cut long, in his opinion anyway, to his shoulders, but still neatly styled back, even despite the situation. His eyes were a dark blue, and that was where the doctor's silent investigation stopped. There was something to those eyes that bore into him, not threateningly, but… old, almost.

"Dr. Klein." His voice was melodic, and in an accent that the doctor could not quite place. He gave a short nod of the head that was almost like a bow, causing the doctor to raise his brow. Of all the patients he had ever dealt with, none expressed such manners – and he used it for lack of a better term. And he certainly would not expect such of a police officer.

Clearing his throat, the doctor waved a hand to offer the seat opposite him, which the man took with no protest. _'And even as he sits, he does so with grace,'_ he admonished quietly to himself. Aloud, Dr. Klein inquired, "Do you know why you are here, Mr. Greenleaf?"

"Yes, I do." His expression was unchanged, and the doctor began to worry if perhaps the security guard was correct in assessing this patient to be calm, or if he had his mind somewhere else when this one was – probably – randomly attacking one of the staff. _'He is too quiet,'_ he thought to himself. _'Like a dog waiting to attack its prey.'_

"And my name is Legolas." That next piece of information startled the doctor, for the name was not familiar to him. _'Or else I really need more sleep, if I'm forgetting information.'_

"Your name is…" he began to dig through the file, but was stopped as his patient continued, in the same, steady voice.

"I know what the file says. But that is not my name. I am Legolas Greenleaf, one of the Nine Walkers, one of the Three Hunters. I have lived for thousands of years before you were even born, and seen more than any one being should in my lifetime."

'_Well,' _the doctor thought, _'There goes letting him back into the streets.'_

"In answer to you unasked questions, Dr. Klein," the patient continued, "I know why I am here. I am here to tell my story, and then I will die."


	2. Ch2 Bleed

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THE MEMORY CHRONICLES: I

FIRST MEETINGS

BY: CEBERLANDON

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NOTE: Thanks to my readers and reviewers. Mistofstars, it looks like in the end you're going to be very sad. But who knows – maybe I have a trick up my sleeve to keep the seemingly inevitable from being… well, inevitable. Calenlass Greenleaf1, I know about the Mellon Chronicles, but I can assure you I did not have that in mind when I came up with the title. First of all, the Mellon Chronicles are a piece of art that are amazing and will forever remain in my favorites list. I cannot compare to them, truly. Second of all, the name seemed to suit well – this story being about (as you will see soon enough) Legolas's memories, composed in numerous stories over time. It just hit me as I was contemplating what I wanted to do with this little "mini series." I'm afraid I wont' change the title, just because I can't think of anything better to suit it. Well, I hope it doesn't bother you so much that you stop reading.

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CHAPTER 2 - BLEED

Dr. Klein stared through the glass window of an ajar door, into the living area where all of the patients could commune and play, though his eyes had strayed and rested on only one. He'd met him just yesterday, and what an interesting day that was. What he thought was a simple cause of trauma quickly turned its ugly head around as the patient, who called himself Legolas. He was an elf, he'd said, immortal and ageless. He'd lived through centuries, as _"time crawled forward, as habits changed and men became less noble."_ Many times he'd had "Kings" or "Queens' of old take residence in his institution, and each one of them had their own exuberant, loud performance to follow after their history. They were all terrible actors who often times only knew, and obsessed over, whatever television show had provoked their misguided identity. It was like watching performers at a Renaissance Fair, or some play done by the community and its over-festive entertainers. This guy, however, acted more like a gentleman, though his posture, voice and eyes reminded the doctors very much of a noble – or at least, someone who was used to giving orders and being respected for it. Though he gave no mention of being a royal, as most of his crazy visitors claimed, he carried himself in a very realistic fashion. He was tired of this world, he told him. But most of all, he was tired of remembering.

---

"_I am tired of carrying the memory of the past alone with me," Legolas had told him. "But, I am also afraid to forget. That is why I did not sail to Valinor when I should have. I was afraid that the only way I could be happy is if I were to forget. But I could not do that to those who meant something to me. I could not let the memory of their existence fade to nothing."_

_Dr. Klein had asked him, then, what Valinor was. In response, Legolas had smiled._

"_It is a beautiful place where all is immortal. Nothing dies but your grief and your pain."_

_He'd strayed from that path, hoping to get a few more intimate answers from him. So he asked him a question that did not turn out the way he expected. _

"_Do you want to die because your partner was killed?"_

_Legolas had startled, then, but only a little. He was quick to collect himself, a silent observation made by the curious doctor. "No." His answer was quick, as if he'd already formulated it in his head before it was even asked. "It was not because of Officer Reich's death, or even his life." He seemed to be having trouble explaining himself, and the doctor thought that perhaps he'd find the answer that night. "His life, as well as his death, merely sparked a memory of someone that I loved."_

"_That you were married to…?"_

"_No." Again his answer was quick, as though he were expecting the questions that were being tossed his way. "I was not in love with him. I loved him dearly, but as a brother. No… what we had was stronger than that." As if reading the doctor's mind, he commented quickly thereafter, "And I mean it when I say that I was not in love with him. Humans today, anyone for that matter," as though there were any other race on this planet? Though with crazy patients… "… you do not understand or appreciate the gift of love. Or you do not allow yourselves to express it so openly. So when it is spoken of, you can only afford to make jokes about sexuality or any sexual comments in general."_

"_I did not say anything-"_

"_You didn't need to."_

_The doctor clicked his tongue – he would have to remember that this one was very observant. And quite good at deciphering people, apparently._

_He did not sigh, nor show any signs of frustration, and Dr. Klein also silently noted just how much patience this one seemed to have – quite unusual for a patient who believed they were a fairy-tale character. He merely allowed a moment of silence, waiting to see if any questions would be inserted in the midst of his explanation, and when there were none, he continued. "His name was Aragorn. Well… he had many names, actually, but was most fondly known by me and the Fellowship as Aragorn. When Officer Reich died, it made me remember and reminisce on Aragorn, and I began to realize what I could not bring myself to accept over these years. My grief was killing me."_

"_What do you mean it was killing you?"_

"_Over the years, I began to… change. But I did not notice it or I was unwilling to accept it until now. They were small things, at first. I was not as fast as I used to be, I could not shoot as well as I always had. I was not as happy, I did not eat or sleep as often as I used to." And as if the patient read the doctor's mind once again, he smiled, coyly, and replied, "It is like getting old, isn't it?"_

"_I did not say anything."_

"_You did not need to." He continued, despite the doctor's suddenly frustrated look. "My heart is getting old," he explained. "A long time ago it was broken apart by Aragorn's death. And so it has tired far more quickly. This is why I am dying." He showed Dr. Klein his bandaged wrists, then, and they were bleeding!_

---

Dr. Klein never did figure out how Legolas had managed to re-open his wounds without even touching the bandages. Perhaps he was as clever as he was delusional, and managed to keep him distracted with his commentary long enough to unwrap the bandages, do the deed and then wrap them back up without his looking. For certain, he knew, he would have to keep an eye on him, and instructed the staff to do so as well.

Though apparently, his staff was not doing a very good job.

As Legolas lifted his hand, to demonstrate something to another patient he was talking with, Dr. Klein had noticed the red seeping through his white bandages. Though another doctor was speaking his name, and holding an invitation to him, the young, curly-haired over-achiever did not hear him. "Hey!" He wove past the other staff members and the patients mingling about. "Hey! Mr. Greenleaf!" By the time he reached him, his patient was looking at him as calmly as ever.

"Can I help you, Dr. Klein?"

Without asking permission to do so, the doctor reached over and pulled his wrist up – he was certain it did not matter which one he caught. And as it appeared, just like the night before, they were indeed both bloody. "When did you do this?" he inquired at his patient in a sharp tone, although Legolas did not seem at all affected by his moodiness. Perhaps he was used to dealing with angry individuals? _'Of course he is! He is a police officer!'_

"I told you before," Legolas responded in his ever-cool, calm voice. "I did not do this. And I did not choose this."

---

"_It will not heal," he told Dr. Klein that night, as they both sat in the nurse's office, while the doctor re-wrapped the red wounds. "Because it is tied to my heart. Elves die of grief, and this is usually how it happens. Their bodies betray them, and they no longer have the will to fight against it."_

"_Wounds do not refuse to heal just because you're not in the mood to do it." The doctor had retorted, rather gruffly at that._

_But Legolas had merely smiled at him. "I wish it were so. Because if I had to choose, I would take a death that is not so lingering. I hate to feel weak."_

_To change the subject, or perhaps just to ease his own frustrations, the doctor inquired, "You said before that Officer Reich reminded you of Aragorn."_

"_I did not say that," Legolas corrected, though he did not speak with frustration or anger for being mis-heart. "I said that his life and death sparked the memory."_

"_How?"_

"_I suppose, even though they were not exactly alike, their situations were similar. And they both had the same bad luck." Legolas smiled at the last thought, and his eyes seemed to change – grow softer, more… joyous, almost. "And they always managed to drag me with them. It was like that, even in the beginning…"_


End file.
